Four Days Of Metal And Bliss – A Photographer’s Journal From Mystic Festival 2025

This year, the weather was a bit more complicated than usual – colder winds, heavier clouds, and rain that insisted on being part of the lineup. Waterproof shoes and jackets weren’t just smart choices – they were my ticket to survival the 4 days of festival. As much as rain can make things more tricky, the mud and the raindrops add this layer of magic into a festival.

There’s a strange charm to standing ankle-deep in sludge while guitars scream across an industrial skyline.

Mystic Festival is a four-day celebration of volume, distortion, and human connection. The Gdańsk shipyard remains the perfect backdrop: industrial, scarred, and beautiful in its roughness. It’s a massive event, and yet it manages to stay intimate. Five stages, each with a distinct character, and never enough time to see everything. As a photographer, it’s both heaven and hell.

This year, the Desert Stage got a serious upgrade. Bigger lights, a wider photo pit, raised platforms, and way more room for the crowd. It’s great, it really is. But I must confess, I miss the old corner version of it. That smaller stage had grit, a special soul. This one looks fantastic, but it lost a bit of its secret vibe.

I came prepared – cardboard schedule in hand, every band, every stage mapped out. And, like every year, that plan quickly dissolved. But that’s part of the thrill. As a freelancer, time is mine to manage. And that freedom turns chaos into joy.

It is impossible to photograph every bands of the festival.

Jerry Cantrell lit up the Park Stage and wasted no time proving why he’s still called the God of Grunge. The Alice in Chains legend delivered a set full of grit and soul, his riffs crashing like thunder through the Gdańsk trees. Hearing classic Alice in Chains tracks live, right here in 2025, in Gdansk, was a real pleasure.

Cantrell is currently touring Europe to promote his third solo album, and he was joined on stage by Greg Puciato – best known from Dillinger Escape Plan – who took on lead vocals for the entire show. Even though Puciato was battling a throat infection, his voice carried raw power and emotion that didn’t diminish the experience one bit. If anything, it added a layer of grit that fit perfectly with the mood.

Exodus followed – thrash in its purest, filthiest form. Sharp, fast, and absolutely brutal. The pit exploded into a blur of elbows, soaked denim, and black leather jacket. No frills, no backing tracks, no stage tricks – just raw, unfiltered chaos from a band that knows exactly who they are. I’ve known Exodus for years – one of those bands that soundtracked my young adult years – and seeing them live, finally, after all this time, was the perfect way to end my day at Mystic. I love that kind of metal: fast and furious.

A soft drizzle greeted the morning, but the crowd was ready. Eagles of Death Metal took the stage to disco. Literally. Their entrance music was “We Are Family” by Sister Sledge, and Jesse Hughes danced his way through it. It was weird, charming, and oddly perfect. Their set was loose, fun, groovy – a break from the 100 shades of grey in the sky.

Then came Turbonegro. First time seeing them live, and they did not disappoint. Glam punk filth and unfiltered energy. The Norwegians put on a show that was brilliant. From the front row to the back fence, people were moving. It was definitively one of the gig of the festival. Not only musically, but by their stage presence and theatricality.

The night closed for me with two contrasting energies. Bullet For My Valentine were like watching a well-oiled machine – but in the best possible way. Celebrating 20 years since their debut album, the Welsh band delivered a set that was super powerful. They opened with an archival video that pulled the crowd straight into their journey, building a sense of connection that only deepened as the show went on.

Their performance was intense, full of heavy riffs and raw energy. I was genuinely surprised by how much I enjoyed it – pure adrenaline, pure rock, no gimmicks. Just a band that completely masters its sound and owns the stage. Frontman Matt Tuck was especially impressive – charismatic, confident, and in full command of the moment.

Suicidal Tendencies? The opposite. Old-school punk crossover – wild and loose. The kind of set that smells like spilled beer and stage-diving sweat. The musicians never stopped moving, jumping, and tearing across the stage. There was so much happening at once, I got lost at one point and completely hypnotized at another – just lowered my camera and let myself enjoy the chaos. It was really great to finally see them live. I love that kind of energy. And as usual, they wrapped things up by inviting fans for a final gig party – a chaotic, joyful mess that perfectly captured the spirit of their show.

Stray From The Path hit the stage with the kind of explosive energy that instantly wakes you up better than coffee ever could. It was still early, but they played like it was midnight and the world was ending. Their non-stop movement, tight grooves, and punk/metal-infused hardcore made it impossible to stand still. Seeing them so early in the day couldn’t have been better – they kicked off the mood with a bang and set the tone for everything that followed.

On Desert Stage, it started with Faetooth – a slow-burning, doom-laced wall of sound. Fuzzy riffs, ghostly vocals, and something oddly comforting in the gloom.

Then: Hatebreed. Zero subtlety. Just war-zone energy from the first riff. By the second track, I had mud halfway up my legs. And it was just the beginning.

Jinjer took the main stage next. Tatiana Shmayluk delivered her signature switch between growls and melodies like she was flipping a coin. The timing couldn’t have been more cinematic: few minutes before their first notes hit, the sky cracked open and dumped a biblical downpour on the crowd. It lasted only ten minutes, but it was chaos. And like nothing was happening, the show went on in time. After few minutes looking at each other and at the sky, we, photographers, finally moved on to the pit to do our job.

Cradle of Filth followed on Park Stage. Their set was gothic horror in sound and visuals – and the cenobite-looking figure Pinhead on stage brought back flashes of horror movies I watched way when I was young. Black metal can be overly theatrical – but when it works, it works.

Opeth brought contrast and calm. Long, intricate songs that invite you to close your eyes – even while standing in a muddy field surrounded by headbangers. Mikael Åkerfeldt’s dry wit between songs was the cherry on top.

And then came the old gods: W.A.S.P. and King Diamond.

W.A.S.P. were loud, defiant, and gloriously over-the-top – just as they should be. Blackie Lawless commanded the stage like a preacher at the altar of 80s metal, snarling through classics like “I Wanna Be Somebody” and “Wild Child” with fire in his voice and defiance in his eyes. The crowd roared every chorus back at him, fists in the air, happy to be here.

King Diamond closed the day on the main stage with the most elaborate stage setup of the entire festival – a towering, multi-level structure straight out of a nightmare opera. There was choreography, eerie lighting, macabre props, and that unmistakable falsetto slicing through the evening air like a scalpel. It was epic in the purest sense: a full sensory assault, part horror show, part metal ritual. The setlist pulled from the deepest corners of his concept albums, with a few sinister surprises from “The Institute“, and every moment felt meticulously crafted to haunt and thrill.

The final day, and you could feel the mileage in everyone’s bones. The fatigue started to take its toll on my body – but when you’re happy, this is just a vague feeling. And it was easily forgotten.

Bad Touch gave us a breather with their earthy hard rock swagger. Suddenly it felt like we were drinking bourbon somewhere in Tennessee instead of dodging puddles in Gdańsk. It was such a great start to the day.

Employed to Serve were an alarm clock made of blast beats. Angry, focused and razor sharp.

The French Landmvrks cranked up the intensity again – modern metalcore precision and emotion. They didn’t miss a beat.

Dark Tranquillity proved that melodic death metal can be both brutal and beautiful. Their set felt like a storm – loud, swirling, strangely graceful.

Vader were next. There’s something extra about seeing them in their native country – it hits harder. Their set was no nostalgia trip. It was sharp, loud, and urgent. I’ve seen them before, but never with this kind of fire. It was special.

Apocalyptica followed, and their cello-driven metal brought goosebumps. It was cinematic in the best sense – the lights, the crescendo of each song, the crowd soaked and silent between waves of noise. Magic. At the end of the show I realized I stayed there for the whole time. I could not find the will to leave the premise. It’s amazing what they can do with their cellos.

Sepultura closed the night with fury. Tight, relentless, tribal. They played like it was their last show ever. Because it actually was. After 40 years, they are touring for the last time. An era is closing. It was the final body slam to end the weekend for me and my gear.

By Sunday, my shoes were very muddy, my legs were fried, my feet sore, but I felt good. Like I never was. A new photo belt had saved me this year – no more twisted spine. Little wins.

I didn’t catch everything. There’s always overlap. That’s the cruel logic of five stages. But I saw enough to know: this year was something special. Each passing year bring us a better and more legendary Mystic. I wish I would have photographed more bands, some I really wanted to see, but it is physically impossible to be at two stages at the same time.

The organization? Impeccable. The crew, the media tent, the security – solid and calm. It’s a big festival that runs with the heart of a much smaller one.

And the people – that’s what keeps you coming back. Metalheads in corpse paint offering to carry your gear. Drunken lads hugging strangers like long-lost brothers. Smiles everywhere. There’s a powerful sense of brotherhood that runs through the crowd, a unity that contrats with the genre’s harsh exterior. While not all metal is violent, that’s the image many outsiders still hold. But inside, among the fans, there’s something tender – raw music wrapped in solidarity.

Damn right.

Huge thanks to every fan who gave me a quote, a smile, or simply stood where the light was perfect. And to the Mystic team – you nailed it again. See you next year, same place, same first weekend of June. With hopefully a little less rain!

Stay tuned because I plan in the following few days, and weeks to publish some more articles about the festival.